I have no choice

I don't choose to catch myself so much red-handed in the mirror.

It simply seems to happen while I'm drifting off and out to sea. Pushing away in a modest boat and toward the warm horizon.  First I'm in a crimson portrait, that bleeds into

a purple blue

and sucks me out to water.

And when I've washed out from the waves the wind gets very still. and the water very calm. and all around it looks the same, the water meeting sky.

then what should catch my eye, but a shadow from below.

that bobs and peaks and seems to speak

but I don't trust her face you know - I've seen it once before.

and if one of us is overboard, I prefer it isn't me.

I'd fight to keep my crumby boat. but it's not the pacific thing to do and I know I'd be kicking myself all week if I got into a fight with her. 









The End

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